


You Make Me Perfect

by DabMyWetties



Series: halo fifteen [7]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Implied Sexual Content, Language, M/M, Pride, Series, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: What did he just do?“Same thing they did to me,” Mitch answers bitterly when Scott voices the question a moment later.





	You Make Me Perfect

 

The last couple months of Scott’s life have been full of one learning experience after another. There’s the basics: college courses, living mostly on his own, the fact that he likes vodka and dancing, how it feels to fall in love. Then there are the more unique experiences: that the world is cruel, that life isn’t fair, that strength ebbs and flows, and that crisis reveals the reality of a person’s character. 

Perhaps the most surprising learning experience comes once he and Mitch return to their - well,  _ technically  _ his but really it’s theirs now - cramped dorm after Thanksgiving weekend. 

Making coffee is  _ not  _ easy. 

What could there be to it, right? You put the coffee grounds and some water in the machine, press a button, and magic caffeine juice comes out a few minutes later. Simple. He’s been making coffee for years. He’s pretty sure Mitch will have his new job down pat in a day or two. 

Ha. 

The first week things are pretty normal. They go to class, study, spend time together, and Mitch spends his first two evening shifts at Java House learning the cash register, how to run the dishwasher, and some boring paperwork stuff. Then he gets to move on to brewing coffee, which apparently takes training and is  _ vastly  _ different from using a coffee maker at home. It’s like he’s a different person. He’s so happy and relaxed; Scott isn’t sure if it’s a lingering high from their better-than-expected Thanksgiving weekend or if it’s the fact that Mitch doesn’t have to deal with the hell that was his previous job and previous boss anymore. He’s not even irritated in the slightest that he’ll miss a Saturday night at the club for work. 

The second week, though, becomes a crash course on the intricacies of espresso. 

“Cappuccino - two shots of espresso, two of steamed milk, two of foam. That’s easy,” Mitch says proudly as Scott takes a break from studying for next week’s finals to help him with the coffee flashcards he’d made. 

“I can’t believe you made flashcards,” Scott says fondly as he flips to the next one. He means it in a sweet, teasing way laced with plenty of admiration for how seriously Mitch is taking his new job. 

Not seeming to be in the mood to joke, Mitch’s eyebrows pull together slightly. “Deadeye - two, no  _ three  _ shots in a cup of brewed, which sounds really useful right now, actually. Of course I made flashcards. I’m not gonna let Kevin down.”

_ Flip. _ “I don’t think you’re going to let him down by not memorizing all this new shit in a matter of days, babe.”

“Latte - easy. One espresso, two steamed milk, tiny bit of foam. The less time he has to spend training me the better. I hate feeling useless and right now the only things I can do are make brewed and pull a barely passable shot.” 

_ Flip. _ Scott snickers. “Heh. You said pull. I’ll give you something to pull...” he leers, only half-joking. All this studying is stressful. They could probably both use a distraction, preferably a distraction having to do with sex or something sex-related.  

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Settle down, Beavis,” he grumbles. “Macchiato - um, double shot, dab of foam. I think. Get me through the rest of these and I’ll give you a blowjob.”

Half the cards flutter to the floor as Scott startles at the offer. He hadn’t expected Mitch to take him seriously, but he’s certainly not gonna  _ complain  _ about it. “Oops. Uh, we already did those.” 

The  _ really? _ look he gets in response, complete with raised eyebrow and pursed lips, is enough; Scott gathers the fallen flashcards and flips to the next one with a grin. “Get through the rest of these without a mistake and  _ I’ll  _ give  _ you  _ a blowjob.” 

Mitch sits up a little straighter. “Americano - two shots pulled over two shots of hot water.” 

Half an hour later they’re on the last flashcard and Mitch is animatedly describing the proper angle to hold the pitcher to foam milk correctly - Scott didn’t know geometry was involved in making coffee - when the phone rings. They both look over at Scott’s desk, then back at each other. 

It’s probably nothing important. Scott waves a hand dismissively in the phone’s general direction and is about to toss the flashcards aside and get down to business when he thinks better of it and taps them into a neat stack. The phone goes quiet as he sets the cards aside. “C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging at Mitch’s arm. He doesn’t need any real encouragement; Mitch scrambles the few feet separating them on the floor and settles himself on Scott’s lap, legs wound around his waist. 

“You’re working too hard,” Scott says softly, one hand finding its way to the back of Mitch’s head and pulling him in even closer. A kiss, the faint taste of cigarettes and the coffee Mitch has been drinking by the bucketful these last few weeks sending a shiver down Scott’s spine because the taste of him always does, just like the way their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces has the same effect. Scott takes a moment to enjoy it, to drink in this happy feeling of completeness. Just for now he doesn’t have to worry about finals, or juggling work hours with studying, or whether Mitch is getting enough sleep, or the asshole who called him a faggot the other day. Just for now everything is perfect. 

Something vibrates right next to his dick. 

For a second Scott wildly wonders what sort of kinky new shit Mitch is about to unleash and then there’s a hand digging around between them and Mitch pulls his pager from his left front pocket. 

If he’s being honest, Scott’s a little disappointed that it isn’t some kinky new shit. 

“It’s Kirstie,” Mitch says, squinting at the string of numbers displayed on the device. “She’s 911ing me.” 

Scott looks at him askance. “You just got that thing a week ago and you’re already saying shit like ‘911ing’? What does that mean and can we get back to the blowjobs?” He doesn’t mean it to come out quite so whiny but Mitch is still in his lap, legs still tight around his waist, and he’s  _ horny. _ They both are, judging by the way Mitch grinds against him. 

“Mmm,” Mitch mumbles. “Lemme just call her quick and make sure she’s okay and I’ll be right back.” 

He’s not right back. From the one-sided conversation Scott can hear, this isn’t a casual phone call. 

“The fuck, Kirst? So what did you say?” Mitch begins to pace, running his hand through his hair. “Shit. Well, that’s good, thank you. What else did he say?” 

Scott doesn’t know if he should pretend to be doing something else to give Mitch the illusion of a little privacy or to keep watching him with growing concern as his frown deepens and his pacing gets more frantic. He opts for the latter. 

“Well that’s not fucking  _ good  _ enough,” Mitch explodes after a prolonged silence. “The fuck am I supposed to do?” A pause. “Um, that’s a no. Not a fucking chance.” 

Okay, what can he do to help? Something is wrong and Mitch is getting increasingly agitated. Scott clambers his way over to Mitch’s jacket and pulls a cigarette from the pack he finds, knowing he’s about eighteen seconds from needing one. He fumbles but manages to light it without choking too much, then hands the lit cigarette off to a stressed but grateful Mitch 

“Oh, what, and pretend like nothing happened? Pretend like… no, I know you’re not saying that… I get it, you’re just -” 

Awkward and unsure what else to do, Scott sits on his bed -  _ their  _ bed, for now at least - and mentally shoots calming thoughts in Mitch’s direction. 

There’s a series of wordless grunts, uh huhs, and nuh-uhs before Mitch explodes again. “Well at this point I don’t care  _ what  _ you tell him! It’s been a month and  _ now  _ someone gives a shit? Like this is some shitty movie with a happy Christmas reunion?” 

A Christmas reunion? It’s been a month? 

Oh. 

Oh, shit.

“No, fuck that, not happening. If he bothers you again tell him… tell him…” Mitch trails off. His face is a mask of rage but, for a moment, it cracks. He takes a breath. “Tell him I’m happy and that I have everything under control. And goodbye. No details, okay?” 

The rest of the phone call passes in a blur. Scott’s dimly aware of Mitch assuring Kirstie several times that he’s serious, a cursory chat about finals, and their goodbye. 

What did he just do? 

“Same thing they did to me,” Mitch answers bitterly when Scott voices the question a moment later. 

And it’s on the tip of his tongue to protest, to tell Mitch to calm down and really think about this, but he bites the offending tongue instead and holds out his arms. Mitch crawls into his embrace without hesitation. 

He’d gone down to the LGBT center just two days ago, while Mitch was at work, to attend a discussion panel on coming out to your family. He’d been a little too shy to share his story - and he never would share Mitch’s, not without him there - but he’d listened. He’d listened and his heart broke, hearing story after story of high school freshmen being tossed out in the streets, of families falling apart, of abuse and abusive therapists who promised to fix what parents thought was broken. 

It was one of the panel speakers, Bill, who made a big impact on Scott. He talked about what comes after coming out to your family goes wrong.  _ If you don’t already know someone who’s gone through this, you will. I can guarantee you will, _ Bill said.  _ And if you’re part of their support system, your number one job is to let them handle the aftermath in their own way. As long as their coping mechanisms are healthy, as long as they’re not risking health or safety, your job is to support the decisions they make about their family of origin. _

Scott had filed it away in his brain with Mitch in mind but hadn’t thought he’d need to use the advice the same week. He tries to calm the urge to tell Mitch what to do and chooses his words carefully. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Scott is surprised at how even-keeled he sounds. He sure doesn’t feel it. 

There’s a muffled grunt, Mitch’s face buried in Scott’s shoulder preventing him from saying much. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk. 

“I love you,” he offers. Mitch answers with a squeeze of his arms around Scott’s midsection. 

Time passes quietly. He’s beginning to think they’re just going to stay like this, silent and entwined, all night when Mitch speaks. “My father dug up Kirstie’s number and called her looking for me. Y’know, since they have no idea where I am for some strange reason.” 

This much Scott had deduced. He presses a kiss to the top of Mitch’s head. 

“He wants me to call or come  _ home _ -” Mitch spits the word, venomous and sarcastic. “- because they’re  _ worried  _ and want to know if I’m okay.” He pulls his head from where it’s been tucked on Scott’s shoulder and leans away slightly to look at him. “This is fucking insane, right? Is it just me? Tell me to get the hell out, don’t seem to give a shit for like a month whether I’m alive or dead, don’t care if I ate Thanksgiving dinner out of a dumpster, and  _ now  _ they wonder where I am, what, two weeks before Christmas? Like I’ll come over for presents and cocoa and everything will be  _ normal  _ again?”

When he puts it like that, it really does sound insane. Okay, support his decisions, validate his feelings. Scott scrambles to find the right words. “It’s not just you,” he says slowly, pulling Mitch back against him. “And I’m so proud of how you’ve handled everything since, y’know, it happened. You’re so strong.” Was that good? Scott hopes it was good. 

Mitch sighs. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like I want presents and cocoa and my jammies and to be a fucking normal kid with normal worries and parents who give a shit. He didn’t even - “ Mitch pauses, exhales, sniffles a little. “He didn’t even tell Kirstie to tell me sorry, or anything at all like there was regret, or that they love me.” 

Ouch. 

“Probably just don’t wanna answer awkward questions about where I am over Christmas dinner. Fuck ‘em,” Mitch mutters. “I don’t need ‘em. I can take care of myself” 

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Scott that night though he desperately wishes it would. He’s got a 9am final and if he falls asleep this very minute he’ll still be able to get a good 7 hours of sleep. Instead, he’s metaphorically tossing and turning - impossible to do in reality with Mitch clinging to him like a snoring koala in this tiny bed - while he worries about whether Mitch is making the right decision. 

And on an intellectual level he knows this is Mitch’s decision to make. That doesn’t make it easier on his emotional side, the side that wants to encourage him to really think about what he’s saying. The thought of writing off your family, even if they did something shitty, is a near-alien concept for Scott. It seems like something that should involve a lot of soul searching and maybe a few tries at fixing the problem. 

Scott carefully reaches one long arm over the edge of the bed and digs around underneath until his fingers find his Walkman. Some music might help him sleep. Mitch had made him another “thinking of you” mixtape earlier in the week and he hadn’t had a chance to listen to most of it yet. Scott loves how Mitch expresses himself with music, and he smiles when he hits play and Depeche Mode - his latest obsession, thanks to Mitch - blares from the headphones. 

Alien concept or not, is it that much different than what Mitch’s family did to him? Scott thinks back to a month ago, when he’d sat in his parents’ living room and come out to them. What had he been prepared to do if it had gone badly? He’d been ready to be thrown out, to make his own way with Mitch. He would’ve worked hard, they would’ve gotten an apartment, and they would’ve made it through together. Isn’t that what Mitch is doing now, in a sense? 

There’s a soft pop and a quiet fuzzing sound as Depeche Mode ends and a new song begins. 

 

([Mood Music Pt. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9g7T5qNrws))

 

 

Scott figures the issue he’s having is that Mitch’s parents - well, his dad, at least - reached out to him. What if they realized they’d made a mistake? What if they wanted to mend fences? Then again, Mitch said there’d been no apology. That really should be the first step in fixing the problem. He shifts slightly and looks down at the top of Mitch’s sleeping head as though it might hold some clarity. 

How is he not more upset? Scott knows he’s not  _ happy  _ about his family situation, but there hadn’t been more than a couple stray tears after the phone call with Kirstie. It seemed like a brutal decision to make, one that would involve a little more emotion. Then again, maybe the decision wasn’t new. The first few days after he’d been thrown out Mitch was a wreck, which, hello, totally expected, but once the worst was over he’d settled into this current mindset. Mitch is absolutely hell-bent on self sufficiency. He’s determined to graduate community college with a 4.0 so he can get as many scholarships as possible. He’s determined to learn his new job fast and without any fuss. He’s determined to pay his own rent and bills and finish the rest of his degree all on his own. 

Maybe the decision was made a month ago. Maybe he decided then that he’d neither expect nor want anything from his parents. 

The thought hurts Scott’s heart. There’s an actual ache in his chest. It would tear him up to have to say goodbye to his family, but maybe he gets it. Maybe it’s what Mitch needs to do so he can keep looking ahead to his future - to  _ their  _ future, maybe. 

And who says that’ll be his decision forever? How that saying go? Time heals all wounds? Scott heaves a sigh. Either way, it all comes back to doing his job as part of Mitch’s support system; he’ll support whatever decision he makes. 

Another pop and whirr and the next song starts playing. Expecting another moody love song, Scott can’t quite stop the sputter of laughter that forces its way out, and he certainly can’t stop the way his chest bounces with barely-suppressed giggles. 

 

{[Mood Music pt. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoSVWlqLF50))

 

Mitch stirs and lifts his head from Scott’s chest to look up with bleary eyes. He blinks a few times, barely visible in the light of the moon and streetlamps coming through the window, and reaches up to push the headphones off Scott’s ear. “S’funny?” he mumbles. 

Struggling to get it together, Scott pulls Mitch back to him and manages to choke out a “shhh” between quiet giggles. “Back to sleep,” he whispers, but he can feel Mitch starting to quake a little with silent laughter. “Salt n Pepa? How romantic.” 

“Shut up, you like that shit,” Mitch whispers back. “I heard it at work and thought of you.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Scott whispers. “And we need to sleep.” 

Mitch stretches and wiggles his way a little higher so that his head is on Scott’s shoulder and where, presumably, he can hear the tinny music playing from the headphone he’d pulled away from Scott’s ear. “Yeah,  _ we  _ do,” he mumbles. “Quit lying there worrying all fucking night.” 

  
***

They’re only ten minutes late when they pull into the driveway at Kevin and Avi’s house for a celebratory end of semester dinner. Scott feels mostly like a huge weight is off his shoulders now that finals are over, and he concentrates on the wide smile Avi offers as he flings the door open and welcomes them inside to hide the despair beginning to creep in. 

“America!” Avi greets them. “Hope you’re not on a tight schedule. I’m way behind on dinner and Kevin isn’t even here yet.” 

"It’s cool, no rush,” Mitch assures him as they head in. 

“Oh, hey,” Avi says as Mitch starts to take his coat off. “Since we’ve got some time before the food’s ready, wanna take a look at how your apartment’s coming along, Mitchy?” 

This, of course, is something Mitch does want to do and Scott can’t help but smile at the way he bounces on his toes before turning an about-face to head back out the door. As they crunch through the snow towards the newly-constructed staircase on the side of the garage, Scott fights to keep the smile in place. 

The last six weeks have been unbelievably difficult and emotional, but secretly sharing his tiny dorm space with Mitch has been amazing. It’s gonna suck now that their illicit cohabitation is coming to an end. 

“...got quite a bit done recently. Work’s been slow with all the snow,” Scott’s barely paying attention to Avi’s chatter as they climb up the stairs, but when Avi pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door at the top he forces his face into a neutral expression. 

The lights inside flick on and a chorus of “Surprise!” rings out as Avi nudges Mitch in ahead of him. Scott manages to slip inside with plenty of time to catch the stunned expression on Mitch’s face as he stares at Kevin, Kirstie, and Jeremy standing in the middle of the living room - Mitch’s living room - all smiling like fools. 

Scott has mentally practiced this moment for over a week now. He slides up next to Mitch and wraps an arm around him. “Welcome home,” he says, sounding much cheerier than he actually feels. From this vantage point he has a much better view of everything that’s been done. When he’d snuck over to help Avi choose wall paint colors just over a week ago the place had been mostly empty and still pretty unfinished looking.

Now, though… now it’s an actual apartment. With furniture, and polished wood flooring, and even though it’s sparse and not at all fancy, it’s a home. 

“What,” Mitch sputters. “What...where… what is all this? Where did this come from...is that…?” And he trails off, eyes darting everywhere before focusing on Scott. “You knew about this?”

Scott can only nod, another smile coming in spite of the rather glum feeling in his heart, because Mitch is somewhere between confused and shocked and  _ smiling  _ like Ed McMahon had just handed him a giant novelty check. “For a few days,” he admits. “Go look around!” 

Kevin can’t rein in his excitement anymore. “Yeah, c’mon Mitch,” he exclaims. “I put the word out at my church about a college student in need and,” he sweeps his arm widely. “A lot of people wanted to help.” 

Scott hangs back and watches as Mitch lets Kevin lead him around the small space. There’s a tiny kitchenette, a small dining table with two chairs, a couch, a television, and even a nice area rug. Mitch can’t take his eyes off the corner of the room, though, and Scott can’t blame him. Avi had constructed a large desk to fit in the space with plenty of surface area for his schoolwork but also, sitting like a crown jewel in the middle with a festive red bow on it, a computer. 

“Someone at your church gave me a  _ computer? _ Seriously?” Mitch manages. 

“Actually,” Scott pipes up. “Merry Christmas, from my parents.” 

There’s disbelief, and more than a few tears from more than just Mitch, and as the night goes on they all troop back around to Kevin and Avi’s much larger dining table to eat the lasagna Avi had actually timed just right. Things get emotional again when Mitch signs the rental agreement and Kevin officially hands him the key to his new place. 

When Mitch wistfully mentions to him that he wishes they had a change of clothes so they could stay the night, Scott just nods and pulls him in closer to his side - as if that were possible.  “Already in the trunk,” he says with a smile. “I knew you’d probably want to.” 

Later - much later - sprawled in Mitch’s big new bed, now thoroughly broken in, in his new bedroom in his new apartment, with the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating their naked bodies, Mitch rolls over on his side and props his head in his hand. “I kinda feel like I don’t deserve all this,” he says softly. 

Scott can’t bring himself to move much, especially not when Mitch trails his fingers lightly across his stomach. He does manage to turn his head with what he hopes is a stern look. “Of course you deserve it. You’ve worked your fucking ass off and you’ve been through so much shit. Besides, you’re paying rent. It’s not a handout. You just got a little help from the community to get you started.” 

Mitch snorts quietly. “More than a little help. There’s pots and pans and dishes and shit in the damn kitchen. And bath towels. Someone gave me bath towels. This is just...insane. They don’t even know me and they gave me, like, bath towels. And a  _ couch. _ It’s not supposed to be this easy.” 

“You deserve it,” Scott reassures him, fighting and failing the drowsiness beginning to overtake him. “You deserve the world. And I’mma give it to you some day.” 

The last thing Scott’s aware of before drifting off is Mitch snuggling into his side, exactly where he’s supposed to be, pulling the comforter over them, and whispering “I sure as hell don’t deserve you.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
